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by Michael Plante Riding the coattails of insanity,grasping the tail of the purple elephantlicking a silver-plated spoon made of ledtransfixed by the wick’s amber.Good night Americathe doors are closed. Outsiders live on the fringesleeping on vacant sofasoffice workers shuffle their feetpushing their souls through paper-shredders.God is a noun poured into a glassor a line of…
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by Michael Plante I sit with God in the outbacka deserted place void of human contactmy faith in people lay like sun-bleached bonesscattered around the barren placed in a symbolistic manner.If life came with a warning symbolit would have been a skull over cross bones. God is an optimist,dancing around the fire at Burning Manwaiting…
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by Michael Plante I paid Attention a visit,she was sitting on a hillside under a treesurrounded by daisies and tall grasswearing a white gown and sunhat. She was smoking a pipe and blowing smoke rings into the airwhich she pushed around the sky with her fingertipsalluding to those that watchedthat she was creating clouds across…
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